he leads you all to mediocrity with his false perfection.
thousands swoop to attend to his words — winds of unsubstantial dew.
i mouth his phrases and choke jealousy.
“why him?” i stutter.
his star light makes my obsidian flash then disappear.
why must we love only those who are already loved with such ardor?
when will we stop ignoring the novel?
must i grovel?
where is my shovel?
i can dr. seuss with the best.
but want to be more.
but want you to be more.